


Beneath Flesh and Bone

by PassingShadow



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Morality, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Hannibal, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 21:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12093330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PassingShadow/pseuds/PassingShadow
Summary: The air shifts. A shudder that vibrates between the space of them. Primal and dangerous. Will can’t help but meet Hannibal’s eyes and sees the shadow of something powerful. Something that most men would tremble in front of.And with a blink it is quickly locked away again, sealed tight inside Hannibal. Left behind is a someone who appears far too in control of the situation.“That depends on whether I consider myself a man.”In that moment, Will understands that Hannibal considers himself above it all; above authority, moral law, and human sentiment. It’s no wonder Hannibal is in the middle of a forest with 4 bodies.An apocalypse AU where Will Graham is barely surviving the new world of violence and hysteria. A chance encounter with Hannibal has him rethinking what it is to be human.





	Beneath Flesh and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long time coming! 
> 
> I have always wanted to write a Hannibal fic, something that captured the fascinating dialogue between Will and Hannibal. I was super inspired by Lord of Flies, especially by the figure of the beast. And ten thousand words or so later, this was born. 
> 
> But my biggest thank you to my fabulous beta, [KaelaByte](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelaByte/pseuds/KaelaByte)! 
> 
> Also, you can find me on [tumblr](http://sidelleshadow.tumblr.com/).

_“People speak sometimes about the "bestial" cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.”_

_―_ **_Fyodor Dostoyevsky_ **

* * *

Will wakes up and automatically reaches for the pistol hidden underneath his pillow. A compulsive habit from his police days that became impossible to get rid of since the world had regressed into a living nightmare.

He shuffles around, legs tangled in his nest of sheets. He stretches hoping to work the sleep from his groggy muscles. Sitting up is his next challenge, which he does with some difficulty.

It’s a pleasant surprise to find his shirt dry, spared from the familiar wetness caused by his night sweats.

He reaches for the nightstand, a generous word for a broken shelf, and grabs his glasses and toiletries. Will picks up a shirt from the floor and heads out the door.

The patter of his footsteps against the hardwood echo across Will’s sanctuary.  

Harrison Graham may have been a bitter alcoholic who lived by the boatyards in Louisiana but he had been an astute man. Will’s father had told him the world was a place that would see itself burn. People were rarely smart enough to understand the depths of their greed.

No one really knows what caused the end of the world, no devastating nuclear war, no zombie infestation, not even a goddamn alien invasion. It was unexplainable. People had just lost their minds, turning on each other with viciousness and savagery. Hysteria had swept through humanity.

And Will had fucking front row seats.

He looks over the balcony to the ground floor. Wisps of light fall through the boarded-up windows onto the bookshelves. Each one covered in a thick layer of dust. He had found this place by accident. When he had been running away from a certain band of marauders, a fluke discovery that had saved his life.

A library checked most boxes for an emergency bunker. Watertight basements with lots of storage space, useless files for kindling fires, strong foundations, and brick walls. The windows were lined with strong shutters, there were three floors of rooms to hide in, and endless reading material so he wouldn’t lose his mind.

This library was one of the fancy ones, boasting a small café and kitchen tucked away in the back.

Will heads to the toilets at the end of the corridor. He grabs the toothpaste from the counter and dips his brush in the tub of rain water under the sink. After brushing his teeth and rinsing his brush, he changes his shirt and walks back to his office.

He sorts through the laundry pile for a fresh pair of socks and grabs his boots. Will tucks his 9mm glock at the back of his waistband, and heads back down the flight of stairs to the ground floor. The steady thuds of his boots on every step.

Beyond the kitchen and café is a garden. The whole thing is half the length a football field, after a week of gruelling work, he set up a 12-foot chain fence for it. He was lucky the library was on the outskirts of town, keeping him away from the city centre but close enough for trips to fetch supplies.

It meant he closer to the forest that surrounded the entire town.

But by this point Will had made friends with his paranoia.  

He opens the oven and pulls out a saucepan, plucking out a set of keys from inside it. Heading towards the back door, Will grabs his hunting bag from the floor. First, he unlocks the double set of padlocks with careful movements, then pulls the wooden beam hooked across the door’s frame, dumping it on the floor.

Closing the kitchen door, Will places a set of padlocks on the outside and pockets the keys.

He strolls along his usual path towards the forest, occasionally glancing at the hares and squirrels that scurry past. It’s a relaxing, quiet walk. The light beams down on the hollow trees. Weathered branches sway with the strong winds ruffling the leaves, causing one to drop. Boots trudged through the ash and dirt smothered on the ground.

Will starts to head east moving past the foliage with practised ease. He pushes through a patch of thick overgrown shrubbery and hears the whistle of moving water before he sees it. Hidden behind the nestle of unforgiving branches is a small stream.

He treads down the muddy slope, watching his footing. He settles himself against a small boulder at the edge of the stream. With a refreshing breath, he reaches his bag and gets out his fishing gear; muscles slackening in the presence of the water. He hooks his bait and slings it into the water.

He allows himself to relax, eyes watching the ripples in the water. In nature’s bubble of serenity.

There’s plenty of wild food to be found near streams: puffballs, silverweed, oyster plant, river elm and on a good day, trout. But Will comes down because it reminds him of his childhood. He had been fond of the marsh swamps near his home. He would drag his dog along and spend hours collecting insects. When he got older his father taught him how to fish.

It’s those same skills that had allowed Will to survive. It makes him wonder how well his father would’ve survived this world.

A thunderous echo of caws erupts from the trees. Followed by the fluttering of wings.

Will looks up, hand drifting to the weapon at his waist. His eyes follow the swarm of black racing across the sky in panicked movements as the ravens burst from their hiding spots. He pulls himself up to his feet and packs up his gear. The two trout he caught are put into a container and dropped into his bag.

It’s time to head home.

Will treks back using the longer path that move through the edges of the forest instead of the straight route home. He didn’t need anyone following him.  

He pushes past the overgrown willow boughs when he foot catches on something. He throws his hands as he falls to his knees. The impact knocks his glasses off.

It takes a moment to reorient himself to the world. He reaches for his glasses and slips them back on. He sits on back on his feet to look back at whatever made him trip.

It’s a dismembered hand.

He stares at it. It’s a large, stubby hand with each finger bent in an unnatural manner and short but dirty fingernails. The pale skin darkens past where the wrist ends, stained with dried blood. He looks up and notices the rest of the body. Separated into pieces. A head lies next to haphazard pile of entrails. The most urgent thought which grips Will from the pit of his stomach is, _I know him_.

It burns with such a fierce heat that Will shudders.

The dead man was the leader of a group of raiders Will had been running from. He was a ruthless man and Will had barely escaped with his life.

The shadows of anger and helplessness uncoil in the pit of his belly.

He jerks onto his feet to look around to find three other dead members laid bare. Largely intact but with deep cuts across each one’s torso.

And standing next to the lifeless bodies is a man. A man who is watching Will intently.

Silence overtakes the space between them.

He notes the dress shoes, the pressed trousers and the long autumn coat. Next to his feet is a band of rope and a large hacksaw. The man is dressed as though he’s unaffected by the current dangers of the world. On top of his clothes, however, is a clear vinyl jumpsuit smeared with blood.

“Good afternoon.”

The words have a strong European inflection.

Will’s eyes flicker over his features, sharp cheekbones, neatly combed hair and shadowed eyes.

His gaze lowers to the nose and settle there.

“You seem to have injured your hand.” The man adds amicably.

The silence deepens. Will can’t help but hold his breathe, he can’t remember the last time he had a conversation with a human being that wasn’t trying to kill him.

Will looks down and notices a large cut across his left palm. He glances back up and shrugs, the stinging is bearable and not too painful.

“It’s not that bad, at least it’s still attached.”

The words awkwardly tumble out of Will’s mouth. His voice hoarse from disuse.

“Indeed.” Acknowledges the man as he watches Will, eyes purposefully lingering on the gun Will has tucked into his jeans.

“What did the commander do that the others didn’t?” Will asks as his gaze settles back onto the dead company.

The stoic man barely shows a response, save the subtle shift of him pursing his lips.

“The man you’ve ripped apart at the seams. He was the commander of a band of raiders.” Will elaborates. “They’ve been bulldozing their way through every town and declaring themselves in charge. They scrounge and pillage for whatever they feel is useful and bleed the place dry before they move on.”

A tiny crease appears between the man’s eyebrows. “Do not mistake my motivations. This is far from an act of heroism.”

“I have no illusions about that. I’m certain it wasn’t an act of self-preservation either.” He gestures back towards the dismembered hand. “Doesn’t mean I’m grieved at his mutilation.”

“So it would seem. Especially given the situation you have stumbled upon.” The man expends effort in carefully enunciating his words.

“It’s a fitting end if you ask me." Will replies curtly. “For the bully who would use brute strength whenever it suited him.”

The man regards Will carefully. Maybe he’s trying to establish how much of a threat Will poses. Or maybe he can see the smug satisfaction that burns inside Will. This was the same commander who kept those he deemed weak in chains, withheld from food and water.

Starving and desperate, Will remembers the sneers and slurs thrown at him.

_Boy, you haven’t earned it yet._

_Boy, I told you to do better_.

Will had spent weeks trapped inside the confines of the raider’s town. Weeks spent shackled and famished simply because they had seen his talent tying knots. Food was a reward for Will’s cooperation in helping to set traps for trespassers.  

 _Boy, haven’t you learnt by now that I’m in charge_.

Seeing the bloody and disfigured pieces of that same man here and now stirs a vicious triumph within him.

The stranger in front of Will takes a measured step forward and holds out a hand.

“Hannibal Lector.” His smile reveals a set of sharp canines. “Pardon the blood.”

He looks at Hannibal’s eyes for a few seconds before his sight drifted back down towards the top button of Hannibal’s burgundy coat. Will reaches out with his uninjured hand to shake Hannibal’s outstretched one firmly.

“Will Graham.”

“You seem to have been acquainted with this commander. Was he truly that powerful?”

“The greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse.”

Hannibal blinks at Will’s words, the smallest movement betraying his surprise.  

“Edmund Burke.” Hannibal states as walks back towards the neatly lined bodies. “But of course no matter how powerful the commander was, he was still nothing more than a man. And all men feel fear.”

Hannibal’s tone is polite but Will can hear the derision in his voice.

“Do you not consider yourself a man who feels fear?” Will inquired.

The air shifts. A shudder that vibrates between the space of them. Primal and _dangerous_. Will can’t help but meet Hannibal’s eyes and sees the shadow of something powerful. Something that most men would tremble in front of.

And with a blink it is quickly locked away again, sealed tight inside Hannibal. Left behind is a someone who appears far too in control of the situation.

“That depends on whether I consider myself a man.”

In that moment, Will understands that Hannibal considers himself above it all; above authority, moral law, and human sentiment. It’s no wonder Hannibal is in the middle of a forest with 4 bodies.

“I suppose you’d need to be something greater than man to survive the hell of the last few years.” Will gripped the strap of his bag. “I’m sure if this was Lord of the Flies it’d be no struggle to establish yourself as Jack, the leader that thrives on fear. I’m even sure you’d find some sick fuck that would happily hail you as God.”

There was no shortage of bullies who saw their chance at establishing power through violence.

Will had heard of a town west from here that had started hunting people for sport. Rather than waste their cache of ammunition and weaponry, the townsfolk would use old bear traps.

Rumours were that if you survived the hunt, you were served meat from your leg as a prize.

Hannibal hummed at Will’s words, “Lord of the Flies at an allegorical level discusses the conflicting human impulses toward social organisation – living by rules, peacefully and in harmony – and toward the will to power. Of course, it also considers group thinking versus individuality, between rational and emotional reactions, between what one would consider moral or taboo. Do you find yourself questioning the standards of morality, Will? Or are you Piggy, merely an innocent sacrifice amidst the chaos of survival?”

“You sound like psychiatrist.”

Hannibal frowned as he picked his way through the dissembled pieces of human flesh. “That was because I was one. I had my own practice.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Will snorts, shifting uncomfortably. “The world’s gone to shit and I still manage to find someone with a penchant of talking 50 ways around a subject.”

After a moment of silence, Hannibal inclines his head. “By your reaction, I can only imagine an encounter with a psychiatrist gone wayward.”  

“More like prolonged durations of someone attempting to psychoanalyse me under duress.”

At Hannibal’s attentive stare, Will sighs. “I was a police officer and I accidentally shot someone dead while responding to a 911 call. The aftermath of psychiatrist’s I could’ve done without.”

Will had forgotten the whirlwind of enquiries and investigations over his health, both physically and mentally. The dreadful sessions with Chilton over his ability to return to the force while everybody at the station breathed down his neck.

Hannibal watches Will for an uncomfortable minute.

“My sessions with you may have gone very differently.”

“Yeah I’m sure, a psychiatrist who’s torn apart a body and murdered 3 people would’ve been fantastic for my psyche evaluation.”

“You seem very occupied with the perception of murder. Is it because the death of the man you shot in your mind qualifies as manslaughter?”

Will’s muscles lock up at the insinuation. He helplessly glances back at the bodies, eyes glazing over the severed limbs. And all Will can see is Hobbs lying on the floor in his kitchen choking on the words, _I honoured them_ , drowning in his blood from seven bullets.

Will shrugs.

“Perhaps you are not Piggy, Will,” Hannibal comments, “Perhaps, on some level you understand that man is a fickle creature that denies his appetite. Every man has a ravenous hunger for cruelty yet polite society stifles that need. Perhaps the world is in its current state because man has denied his true nature.”

His words are amused.

“Perhaps.” Will says quietly.

Sensing Will’s need to escape, Hannibal takes a step back. “Of course, this is a discussion that can be continued some other time. The trout you have in your bag will spoil if you do not attend to it soon.”

Will narrows his eyes. It was unnerving to think Hannibal knew where he had spent his entire afternoon. Either that or Hannibal has an incredible sense of smell. Whatever the reason, from the mild smile on Hannibal’s face was unnerving. Clearly, Hannibal has a need to establish the upper hand in most situations.

He takes a definite step away and widens the gap between them.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I would be most grateful if we did continue this conversation, if it won’t be too much an inconvenience perhaps over dinner?”

The absurdity of the of the question catches Will off guard.  

Over the last year, food had been about survival, not enjoyment. Will had gotten used to the burn in his stomach. Always aching for a little bit more and never being full. The itch in his stomach acted as a warning to be careful. To take what was needed and save the rest for emergencies.

Then again, Hannibal didn’t seem like a man merely surviving in this world. He looked as though he was ready to step back into the life of high society if the opportunity presented itself. A wolf dressed in the finest sheep’s clothing.

Thinking over the offer and the chances of running into Hannibal again, made him realise both situations were ones he’d like to avoid.

“If I say no, am I going to find myself in the same condition as the commander?”

Gently, Hannibal refuted the idea.

“I’ll think about it.” Is Will’s final answer as he takes his leave.

He takes extra care in going home. He walks along the wider circle around the forest and then heads past the library towards the centre of town. After making sure he wasn’t followed, Will doubles back home.

That night Will triple checked the locks of all the doors before he made his way to bed.

And when he woke up the next morning, his shirt is soaked wet and he is chilled to his bones from a nightmare he can’t remember.

* * *

It took a week before Will dared to venture out toward the forest again.

The instinct for self-preservation kicked in after his meeting with Hannibal, an irrational feeling to stay safe inside his burrow of books.

It didn’t help that he’d also suffered near constant headaches and sleepless nights.

Will carefully treads down toward the stream. He stopped every now and then to pick the mushrooms or berries he came across. It had become a bit of a habit to stock up on food whenever he had the chance.

He found an injured squirrel, its back leg mauled by scratches that were likely from a larger predator. Will offers it a silent apology before using his knife to cut through the animal’s neck. He waits for the blood flow to slow before putting the bloody animal into his bag.

Will wants to head down to his stream, to sit down and close his eyes and ease his restlessness. But he’d noticed an extra set of muddy tracks through the forest.

Someone other than Hannibal.

The footprints were far too erratic in their movement to be Hannibal, because he doesn’t seem to be negligent enough to leave obvious traces of his movements.

Will’s skin prickles at the foot prints and he tightens his grip on the knife. He quickly turns away from tracks.

He’s walked a few yards when he smells it.

The stench of rotting flesh.

Will knows he should leave it be. Fuck if he’s going to be caught off guard by another psychopath. But the memory of the dead commander comes to mind and spurs a spark of curiosity. His feet move before he can convince himself not to.

Will trudged through the damp leaves and moss. He could feel the heavy dew of the air across his skin, a sign of incoming rainfall.

The steadily growing foul smell of decay soon became overwhelming and that’s when Will sees it.

A figure formed from discoloured, putrid meat.

The three bodies of the raiders have been contorted and moulded together to form a creature Will had never seen before. Deformed and imposing, the figure is hunched over onto all fours, its three faces angled towards the thing placed next it.

It is the severed commander’s head, mounted on a sharpened stick, swarming with flies.

Will stares at the two figures before him and feels a sudden strike of familiarity at the display.  

It had been years since Will’s attempted to use his abilities. So many had gossiped about his _unique_ gift to be able to look onto a scene and pick up details most couldn’t. Chilton proudly claimed to understand his exceptional aptitude for logical reasoning. His boss considered it a party trick and used it when a case was particularly difficult.

Will took a step back and closed his eyes, drinking in the odour of putrescent flesh.

He can picture Hannibal in his mind, working quietly and meticulously. Forming his design with precise movements and sheer force when needed. Will could imagine Hannibal’s amusement at being able to do disfigure, maim and slaughter, to prove himself to be the real predator. The pride at being above it all.  

He opens his eyes and sees the picture Hannibal wishes him to see, a sacrifice to a beast conjured by fear and cruelty. A reminder that man will be consumed by the very thing he fears.

No matter how much he hides, resistance was futile.

The true embodiment of man versus nature.

No matter how a man may label and dress himself, no matter who he shackles and imprisons, anarchy is a messy violence with a cruel brand of justice. A painful truth of the world they live in.

For the first time, Will considers that maybe you had to be something other than a person with morals and compassion to survive this world.

Will had an uncomfortable intimacy with violence. He’d always seen the worst in people since his police days, abusers, murderers, addicts and stepped into a world of trouble that most people couldn’t stand to see. And it left him crippled with anxiety, sleeping disorders and a set of mind numbing headaches.

Maybe he was just better off watching than participating.

He took in the disfigured features of a man that once haunted his nightmares. The fluid seeping from his eyes and the sagging flesh, the colour turning black with a hue of green.

A part of him can’t help but sneer at the sight. The man with a self-proclaimed title of commander reduced to fodder for an animal.

It’s with that thought he walked home, with a small quirk of his lips and a lightness in his steps.

* * *

Will stepped into the kitchen and snapped shut all the padlocks along the back door.

He tossed the key back into the pot on the top shelf and puts his bag down. Will heads to the old store room at the back of the kitchen. He’d created a small gap between the window and its frame to allow cold air into the room as ventilation and then added rubber from old tires to the door to seal the cold air inside.

It wasn’t the best fridge out there but it allowed Will to store berries, mushrooms and fish without worrying over it going bad.

He takes out the dead squirrel from his bag and heads to the employee room. He hangs the animal onto the wire tied across the length room, so that the blood drains. He had needed a place to dry his meat, made it last longer.

Will tugs his boots off and with heavy steps, slugs his way towards the toilet. He grabs the old towel from the counter and dips it into water in the bucket. He wipes away the dirt from his skin and the blood from his hands. Leaning over the sink Will rinses out his hair, running his fingers through tangled curls. They were getting far too long for his liking. He looked up into the mirror after he scrubbed the wet towel over his scruff.

He was running low on razors and probably had to go raid the convenience store in town soon.

Will tosses the towel away and leaves his muddy boots on the floor, he would clean them later.

He wants to get some sleep but his mind is too active. Too restless and would likely just lie in bed with no purpose. Images of the humiliated commander flash behind Will’s eyelids.

He needed a distraction. Now.

After changing out of his dirty clothes, Will enters the main floor of the library. Not that he has a compulsion for cleanliness but it’d be a waste to ruin any of the books with his grease and grime. He moves towards his favourite corner. One where he’d dragged together all the benches and covered them with shock blankets he’d taken from a broken-down ambulance.

He’d also found a stash of morphine, and he’d protect it with his life.

Although the windows had been covered by wooden planks. Will had found a bunch of solar powered emergency lights. He’d use it and leave it out the next day to recharge. Handy for when he needed to move through the darkened halls in the middle of winter.

He settles down with his legs stretched out. The sheer volume of books helped Will settle his thoughts. He’d already worked his way through the classics and most of the fishing manuals. The murder mysteries had passed the time, even if he guessed most of the endings.

He was currently in the middle of an agriculture book. Will had been hoping to strip back the garden and find some seeds to grow, a more sustainable food source. He’d have to make his own manure and figure out how to protect from plants from the extra rainfall and possible snow in the winter.

Will reached over to the haphazard pile of books next to him. His hand freezes.

Lying at the top is a copy of Lord of the Flies.

He jerks, tumbling to the floor in a mess of limbs and blankets. He gets up and looks around in mindless panic. He stares at the small novel. Waiting for an explanation.

Will moves away feeling violated. Someone had broken into his home and he hadn’t notice. _Un-fucking-believable_. Standing in the middle of the hall; surrounded by high walls, balconies, and rows of bookshelves. It used to be a pleasing quiet, a place of comfort to relax and shut down his thoughts. Now the same walls are imposing in their stillness, holding secrets for trespassers.

Will rushes upstairs to the office for his gun and then double checks all the entrances. Locked.

All of them are locked. Even the main set of doors and been boarded and nailed shut. It was impossible to enter this place without having impressive lock picking skills for the kitchen entrance.

But who would want to go through that much effort.

Will makes the inevitable trip back to the ill-omened book. And notices a small slip of paper peeking out from its pages.

With an unsteady hand, he opens the novel.

The small white envelope drops into his lap and he reads his name written across the font in an elegant scrawl.

His eyes move between the letter and the open book, not knowing what to do. Unexpectedly his focus settles on the page the letter was left between.

One single sentence stands out to Will.  

_Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy._

Clicking into place; Will knows who his mysterious visitor is.

And the realisation doesn’t make him feel any better.

He swears under his breath as he closes the book and places it aside. With a shaky grip, he rips open the envelope and pulls out a thin piece of paper. When Will unfolds it, he sees the same elegant penmanship.

_Dearest Will,_

_Firstly, might I say, you have found yourself a rather beautiful home._

_It was Jorge Luis Borges who said he had imagined Paradise to be a kind of library. Have you modelled this library into your vision of heaven, Will? What a stunning vision it is._

_I offer a profound apology at having to enter your residence in such a manner. I understand it is terribly forward and I do hope you are not too alarmed by the presence of this letter._

_When we had last met, I had invited you to my home for a meal and I thought a week would be sufficient time to consider the suggestion. I am earnest in my request for your company and for a refreshing evening, perhaps with the inclusion of our rather intriguing conversation._

_And it would be dreadfully rude to not send out a handwritten invitation._

_Therefore, I would like to formally seek the honour of your presence for dinner at my home four days from now, **Friday 28 th July**,_ _at eight thirty._

_I have taken the liberty to draw the directions at the back of this letter._

_I hope to see you join me on Friday._

_Warm Regards,_

_Dr. Hannibal Lecter._

Will stared at the page in disbelief. He read over the carefully written sentences. Hannibal had certainly proven himself to be an exceedingly dangerous man. There was a clear message underlying the polite words. Hannibal knew where Will lived and worst yet, Hannibal had clearly walked within the bounds of the library and he could do it again if he wished.

This was a man who did as he pleased and pursued whatever he found interesting.

And it was a lot more than Will could handle. He crumples the paper in a fit of frustration and throws it across the hall.

He felt a chill run through to his bones. Hannibal had waited before entering - that meant he’d been watching Will.

With a shaky breath, Will closed his eyes and pictured Hannibal, dressed immaculately, wandering these halls and moving between the bookshelves. He’d have drawn his fingertips across the spines of his personal favourites, reciting the words in his mind. Hannibal had been observing Will’s world, wanting to understand him.

With a groan, Will pulls himself up from the floor and walks across to pick up the crumpled piece of paper. He carefully opens it up again and flattens it out to get rid of the creases.

He looks at the carefully sketched out map. He looks at the directions and the labelled streets, and vaguely recognises the area.

Will had no idea what to do. Friday was a week from now. The thought of him attending the dinner brings up a swirl of different scenarios, each one worse than the other, but if he ignores it altogether, Hannibal would hardly be pleased with his dismissive response.  

He could sum up the entire situation with three words; colossally fucked up.

* * *

Will watches his step as he walks past through overgrown front lawns of another abandoned street. A steady hand resting on his gun. There are also three knives tucked into the corners of his boots and belt.

He’d always made it a habit of avoiding travelling anywhere at night. His paranoia thrived in dark open spaces. It certainly didn’t help that every time he’d closed his eyes over the last few days the image of the beast formed behind his eyelids, with his raspy laugh, demanding sacrifices.

Will pulls up his scarf higher, to cover his nose from the unforgiving chill in the air.

God knows why he’s trekking through the town to have dinner with a stranger. It’s absurd and completely out of character. Will wants to be home with all the doors locked, but that isn’t an option, not when Hannibal entered with such ease.

But a thought itches the space beneath his skin, a thought that prompted him to wash and groom himself as best he could and wear the cleanest shirt in his possession.

For the first time in months, Will has a chance to spend an evening with another person, to speak and converse over a warm meal. A world of a difference to the muffled words he whispers to himself to fill the silence.

Hannibal’s invitation is a benediction to Will’s self-imposed solitude.

He continues across the road and turns a corner, eyes alert.

He’s entered the once lavish gated community of the town. Will can picture his mind, bronzed gates and expensive cars that sit in the driveways of massive houses, belonging to the upper crust of society. It’s all gone now, most of the houses are empty with their windows shattered and doors missing. Most likely raided by other people.

He stops in front of the last house. Unlike the others, this is pristine in condition with a perfectly maintained front lawn and polished brick work. Will swallows when he sees the lights through the windows. Running electricity. Something that should be impossible.

His feet move toward the door like a moth to a flame.

He raises his hand, hesitating just above the frame. Will takes a deep breath, and then another, before knocking three times on the solid wood.

He glances behind him towards the empty street watching for any unnecessary movement, hand still resting on his Glock.

There was a sound a of a click and Will looks back to watch the door open slowly, Hannibal standing on the other side. He’s not even surprised to find Hannibal dressed in an impeccable three-piece navy suit, tie and handkerchief included. He’s glad he took the time to make himself presentable.

“Will, you are right on time.” Hannibal welcomes and steps back, opening the door wider.

“Please, come in.”

Will glances back one more time before entering. He notices the dark timber floorboards and can’t help but blurt. “Sorry, my boots are going to ruin your floor.”

“No need to worry, I have cleaned worse things than soil and debris off these floors.”

Will conjures the beast from the forest in his mind, made from shadowed thoughts. Imposing and intelligent. Brought to life from the souls it’s gorged. Hannibal emerges from within its fog.

The image shifts to Hannibal dragging bellowing bodies through this hallway into the heart of the house. Never to be seen, or heard from, again. Will unintentionally meets Hannibal’s eyes, sees the skin around the man’s eyes crinkle in amusement. As though he knows what Will is imagining.

Will coughs and shuffles past; keeping his eyes trained on the floor. He hears the door close behind him followed by a resounding click. Hannibal utters a gentle _follow me_ and leads Will towards the living room.

The room seems has impeccable décor, subtle colours, a burning fire at the fireplace, and expensive looking artefacts placed at appropriate corners. But Will’s eyes are drawn to the chandelier at the centre of the ceiling, the one that is lit and glowing.

“I can always dim it, if you prefer.” Hannibal asks.

Will shakes his head politely and forces himself to turn back to the other man.

“How long have you been using solar panels?”

It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Will had thought about something similar at the library. But the materials needed were hard to find, especially batteries never mind a fucking working inverter.

“Very observant.” Hannibal responds with a lazy smile. “I must admit, I am a man who enjoys certain comforts. Although there is something aesthetically pleasing about candles, they are inadequate to my needs in the kitchen.”

“How do you protect the panels from theft. Surely someone would’ve noticed the lights.”

“Anyone who attempts to bear harm to my home is welcome to do so.”

The threat is clear.

Will snorts, “And good fucking luck to them, huh?”

Any idiot stupid enough to break into Hannibal’s house is as good as dead.

“Hmm, indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must check on the roast leg of lamb. I can only leave it cooking for so long.”

Will almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. He’d never been one to attend dinner parties while the world was still normal. But here he was in a house with running electricity, and probably water, about to have a meal while attempting polite conversation. What a strange world.

“Sorry, I didn’t bring you any wine.” Will apologises half-heartedly. “I know I’m supposed to bring a gift to the host and all.”

“A misstep easily forgiven.” Hannibal inclines his head good naturedly. “Of course, I am always in a need of a good hunting knife.”

Will freezes, entirely caught off guard. His hands clenched tight. He takes in Hannibal’s relaxed posture and realises Hannibal’s attempt to deliberately provoke. Hannibal is testing the waters and easily reasserting Will’s vulnerability.  

Hannibal murmurs a quiet apology but Will notices the small smile in his eyes as he leaves to check on the food.

Soon after, he leads Will into the dining room. The table is extravagantly set with polished cutlery and beautiful wine glasses. He brings in the leg of lamb inside a coating of clay and presents it in a flourish, cracking it open in precise movements. He watches Hannibal pour him a glass of red wine, the label was simple and understated, something he would never have considered buying for himself.

Will is in awe. He looks down at his plate and, under Hannibal’s watchful gaze, cuts a small piece and takes a bite.

And has to stop himself swallowing too fast.

“It’s delicious. I- I don’t remember the last time I ate anything this good.” The taste is a world away from squirrel meat. Even when things were normal, Will’s diet consisted of mostly caffeine and cheap meals from takeaways.

Hannibal seems pleased by his response and begins to eat his own food.

“I must admit, I have always enjoyed entertaining guests and it has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of another’s company.”

“I must be a poor excuse of a dinner party. I’m not exactly a good conversationalist.”

“Not at all.” Hannibal answers diplomatically. “If anything, I found our last conversation to be fascinating and far more honest than most dinner gatherings.”

The comment brings an unexpected smile to Will’s lips. He can only imagine the horrendous small talk Hannibal had to participate in, all the while knowing they would never see the true glimpse of his true nature.

“I recall you saying you working as law enforcement. May I ask where?”

“I started working with the police force in New Orleans.”

“But you moved on?”

“My Chief Inspector recommended me for a position at the Baltimore station. He felt my talents were being wasted,” He pauses to take another bite, “Felt my insight would be better suited for more difficult cases, because he thought I could make a difference.”

He looks over to Hannibal watching him with interest, his hands on the stem of the wine glass.

“A decision you disagreed with.”

“Not entirely. I mean, I helped in a few homicides and a couple of kidnappings. Eventually I was asked for help with serial cases, with rising body counts. It’s just- ” Will took a deep breath, “Some of the things I saw didn’t always agree with me.”

“Understandable, you were forced into an environment where you had to engage with displays of moral abnormalities, and then to participate in your own mind with those very values. Did you develop any coping mechanisms?”

“Mostly nightmares.”

“Of being killed by the very people you were hunting.”

Will looks down at his fingers, fiddling with the cutlery on his plate. “Not exactly.”

A heavy pause settles between them.

“You dreamt of killing the victims.” Hannibal finishes for him, tone intrigued. “You placed yourself in the position of the hunter.”

Will wants to deny it, remembering the taunts and questions from his days at the station. But he knows Hannibal doesn’t share the same sentiments. With a held breath, he nods very slowly. He can feel the interest of Hannibal’s gaze. The weight of it settling on his skin.

“I guess it’d be pointless to ask if you think that’s fucked up.” Will asks.

“I will admit to not harbouring any judgement to your thoughts.” Hannibal relaxes in his chair.

““Dreams are considered the manifestations of our subconscious thoughts. Some argue that dreams convey our most deeply guarded secrets.”

“Are you saying my nightmares are a denial of my instincts. That I’m attracted to violence and secretly get off on hurting others.”

“Man of course is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.”

Will snorts. “Albert Camus.”

He is rewarded with another of Hannibal’s smiles, as rare as they are. Hannibal ushers Will back into the living room to take care of the dishes, refusing any offer of help. Will settles on a comfortable arm chair in front of the fire. His thoughts drift in an unfocused haze.

Hannibal returns with two more glasses of wine. His jacket is gone and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his forearms.

Will politely refuses, he really shouldn’t be drinking anymore. Not when he has to make the journey back to safety. Hannibal complies and leaves his drink on the table before settling himself into a chair opposite Will.

“So, is it my turn now?” Will asks.

“It is only fair. What are you curious about?”

Will considered, what had Hannibal been before all this? How had he hidden in plain sight of those around him? Where he came from? How’d come to be the man he was.

And Will realised it would be pointless. Hannibal’s existence is now what it was before. In a home filled with his comforts but guarded well. His interest in philosophy and literature is resolutely the same as his thirst for blood and slaughter.

“What do you think happened to the world?”

Will knows that he’s surprised Hannibal again, from the way his eyes grow more intense.

“Perhaps, it is a form of divine intervention. A test of sorts, to decide whether mankind has the instinct to survive, or the will to live.”

“Isn’t that the same thing.”

“Do not limit yourself, Will. Those raiders in the forest were surviving this life, they were no better than pigs, killing and eating anything in their sight. To live, you must thrive. There is no shame in being the predator, but there is also no shame in enlightenment.”

Will knew Hannibal could not care less about the carefully constructed values of society. But in a world where hysteria is a virus, Hannibal established himself superior through his knowledge of languages, histories, and philosophies. Human destiny meant little to him because Hannibal would gladly be the beast – the manifestation of the devil himself, if it allowed him to live life as he chose.

Eventually, Will made to leave and when he was at the door, Hannibal presented him with a small box carefully packed into a bag. It is Will’s curiosity that accepts it.

He made his way back to the library. Carefully locking up all the entrances, Will heads to his room and gets ready for bed.

It is in the privacy of his room where he opens his gift from Hannibal. Inside is a handwritten note and carefully packaged seeds.

_Dearest Will,_

_I truly enjoyed our evening together, it was a refreshing change of pace._

_In my last visit, I could not help but notice your interest in an agriculture manual. Thus to express my gratitude for your attendance, I wanted to share with you some seeds from my very own garden. Hopefully they will take with a green thumb and a little persistence, and you can enjoy seasoned meals. Who says we must give up our comforts to survive._

_I hope we can have a repeat of our dinner and make it a habitual engagement._

_Till next time._

_Your friend,_

_Dr. Hannibal Lecter_

It takes a minute for Will to realise he’s smiling.

It’s a small gesture but something pleasant uncoils in his stomach. Something he’d felt towards

the end of the night with Hannibal.

It’s when he is in bed that night that Will begins to re-evaluate his perspective.

He recollects his time with the raiders, a feral colony where brute force settled disputes. Sinking their teeth deep into each other’s throat to gorge on a feast. Will remembers a pair of young boys stumbled into the camp hoping for shelter. The commander had declared them spies, vile lies spit from his mouth to a crowd of madmen.

The stench of burning flesh still chokes Will awake.  The roaring screams of mercy as they were punished for seeking company.

In comparison is Hannibal, a man who is undeniably dangerous, but bestowed Will with seeds because he’d seen Will’s interest in it.

Maybe, just maybe, Hannibal wants Will to _live_ rather than survive.  

* * *

Will spends the next few days in the patch of land behind the library. He sets up an extra barbed wire fence around the area. He would probably need to add some wooden planks to block off the garden from any prying eyes.

He takes apart a few shelves and repurposes them into garden beds for the seeds. There’s also the soil, manure, and compost to think about. He spends the morning sorting out a to-do list and starts to dig out the sand and soil.

After a few hours of quiet work, he senses the prickly feeling of being watched. Straightening up his back, he picks up the gun lying next to his feet. Will looks over his shoulder.

Hannibal is standing a respectable distance from the fence, dressed in his usual immaculate attire. He lowers his chin as a hello and waits for Will to make his way over.

“I really hope you aren’t about to say you were in the neighbourhood and decided to drop by.”

“Would it be easier if I were to say I came to see you?” Hannibal asks.

He’s not sure if that were a better answer but to be fair, a part of him knew Hannibal would revisit him at some point. The question was whether Will was looking forward to Hannibal’s visit.

His eyes drop to the basket in Hannibal’s hands.

“Maybe.” The honest answer is out of Will’s mouth before he has time to second guess and overthink it. He adds that the only way he’d let Hannibal in was if he’d be willing to help Will set up the garden.

He wanted to see if Hannibal is willing to ruin his suit.

Hannibal is gracious in his acceptance. He’d taken off his jacket, vest, and tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He works quietly, moving the wooden planks, and helping Will set them place for the vegetable lots.

It was a companionable silence.

Every now and then Hannibal explained the benefit of a herb, be it in terms of adding flavour to a particular recipe or any medicinal purposes.

When they deem it to be enough work for one day, Will hesitated but ultimately invites Hannibal

inside.

After washing their hands in the kitchen, he leads Hannibal into the main hall.

He watched Hannibal move between the bookshelves, no doubt cataloguing each author and title. For the first time in months, he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad to live like this. To share your time and space with someone else and not live in crippling solitude.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by Hannibal asking a question about a French philosopher. It soon turns into a two-hour discussion.

Hannibal promises to bring his home brewed coffee when he notices Will yawning from exhaustion.  

* * *

Will finds himself back at Hannibal’s house after three weeks.

He tries not to dwell on his eagerness to accept the invitation.

This time Will’s asked to help with the salad and works in the space that Hannibal’s created for him. He listens to careful instructions on Hannibal, on carefully cutting the carrots into small triangles. As Hannibal moves past, he feels the brush of fingers across the small of his back. His hand pauses mid-slice and he looks over his shoulder. Hannibal is busy with warming up his sauce pan. Almost as though Will had imagined the whole thing.   

The warmth of the touch had sent a shiver down his spine.

He tries to focus on slicing the carrots but quietly watches Hannibal from underneath his lashes.

Hannibal catches his eyes, lips curving in a subtle smile.

Will snaps his attention to the cutting board in front of him. His pulse rising every time Hannibal brushed past or attempt to make eye contact.  

“Herb roasted loin.” Hannibal announced as they settle at the table. He places the plate in front of Will first. “Served with a Cumberland sauce of red fruits.”

Will still isn’t used to the immaculate food, both lavish in presentation and taste. He admires the sight of the thick, maroon sauce poured across the meat. The flourish of Hannibal’s meals still manages to surprise. The meal is as delicious as expected, a combination of rich flavours and subtle spices. Food that can’t be compared to anything he’s had before.

“Delicious” He compliments, unable to stop the tremor as Hannibal’s hand settles on top of his own, thumb stroking the back of his palm once.

“Thank you. I find a meal shared with another is infinitely more enjoyable.”

“I must certainly be lacking to your usual company.”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal corrects him quietly but with assurance, “Your company has a sincerity that I have seen in a long time. It is not often I have been able to bare myself free of deceit.”

It wasn’t difficult to imagine why. Hannibal would’ve been perfectly able to mingle with the well-to-do social circle, from extravagant dinner invitations to gala charity events or parties. The perfect environment to bask in the knowledge of his own importance. But Will could picture Hannibal closing off a part of himself, the part that sneered at their delicate sensibilities and their obsession with morals and virtue. Hannibal’s home would have seen people come and go, but no one would have truly been invited to its depth, to see the creature who dwells in the basement. Made of the darkest black and deepest maroon.

Another touch across his hand brings Will out of his thoughts. Hannibal is watching him intently, his gaze curious but piercing, cutting right through Will.

“Sorry, I sometimes get distracted.” Will sighs.

“Distracted seems inadequate a description. It is as though you disappear inside someone else, as you view the world from their eyes.” Hannibal comments, “The most remarkable form of empathy I’ve ever seen.”

Will swallows his mouthful of food, gaze drifting down to the fork in his hand. “Fascinating, I’m sure.”

“I apologise if it is an unpleasant comment to hear. I certainly did not mean to upset you, but really your empathy is a remarkable gift. And that you allow me to make eye contact is of course something I do not wish to take for granted.”

“You shouldn’t. Sometimes I…There are times when I’m not sure if I can ever stop empathising with a person. One day I’ll delve in too deep and lose myself.”

Will glances back at Hannibal, shadowed eyes watch him back.  

“You seem perfectly in control to me. Given the nature of your occupation and the subsequent events over the last few years, you are no less prone to violence and hysteria. I assume there is a particular reason you feel unhinged?”

He wonders if this is how Hannibal’s patients’ felt, soothed by gentle words and a calm voice, urged to share their darkest secrets. It certainly seemed to be working well with him.

“There was a case that I was referred to, it didn’t do any favours to my health. I tried not to stay involved but that idea certainly didn’t sit too well with the bureaucrats.” Will remembered the late nights going over the case files, reliving the scenes again and again. The fresh taste of blood in his mouth and the feel of flesh beneath his fingertips. Moulding the pigs as he pleased. “It was a serial case with multiple victims but each death was different. They were violent, some would say messy, but – but each murder was a different scene laid out before us, different motive, different perspective…A different design.”

Will closes his eyes, and remembers the doctor cut in half, seated in an old-school bus, organs splayed out.

“They called him the Chesapeake Ripper, and Hannibal I swear, I- every time I looked at the picture, I would see him, feel him and his anger. I would look at my colleagues and taste the distaste he’d had for his victims.” Will doesn’t notice the tremor in his hands, causing his fork to tap away on the plate. Hannibal guides it away and places the cutlery onto the table, without interrupting him. “There were days I would go to sleep thinking of a crime scene, and I would wake up choked with a need to destroy. It was like a poison, slowly chipping away at me.”

“I disagree.” Hannibal leaves his hand on top of Will’s hand. “I think you owe yourself more credit than that. Your empathy doesn’t away who you are, it allows you to see things from a different perspective. And every time you empathise, you experience a new point of view. It allows you to evolve with thoughts you were not capable before. It does not make you any less _you_ , rather the opposite.”

Will eyes drift up to at Hannibal, an unwavering presence amidst the chaos of his thoughts. He grips Hannibal’s hand gives him a shaky smile.

“Thank you.”

For what, Will wasn’t completely sure but it feels right to say it.

He continues to look at Hannibal, even as the other man leans forward in his seat, brings his other hand up and curls his fingers into Will’s hair. Hannibal kisses him so carefully, so tender and gentle that it takes his breath away. Hannibal takes Will’s bottom lip between his teeth, and Will groans at the feeling.

Hannibal pulls away before it can go any further. He looks pleased, watching Will with fond eyes.

“Was that unwelcome.” Hannibal asks quietly.

It takes Will a minute to catch his breath. “Unexpected, but not unwelcome.”

“Good.”

As they clear up after dinner, Hannibal keeps close to him. More accidental touches across his back and arms but the smile on Hannibal’s face is far too smug for it to be just that.

Hannibal catches him by the door when he’s getting ready to leave with a short peck on the lips. Somewhat tame compared to their kiss before. But it makes Will smile nonetheless.

It’s when he gets home that night that he looks over the evening and Hannibal’s actions. A part him wonders if he’s echoing Hannibal. Absorbing and reflecting the other’s desire.  

The feel of the kiss and Hannibal’s smile drift across Will’s thoughts, cutting across everything else.  

Another part just doesn’t fucking care.

* * *

“I said I was sorry.”

Hannibal sends him a small smile and a stare the goes straight through him. But Will knows Hannibal well enough to notice the stiffness in his posture and the disapproval in his limbs. It seems even Hannibal isn’t above bouts of irritability.

They are settled by Will’s favourite stream, fishing for the evening. Hannibal had said he would be perfectly comfortable watching Will in action, content with providing warm coffee and some snacks. It had been nice, until Will decided to use the meat from the sandwich as bait, Hannibal had thrown his version of a hissy fit; clipped responses and a whole lot of silence.

Will hides another smile behind the sleeve of his shirt.

“I can still see you, William.”

Will tries not to laugh, finding this version of Hannibal endearing.

He moves before he can second guess himself. Leaning over space between them he crowds close to Hannibal and kisses him, hands locked onto the lapels of his goddamn suit.

After a minute, he felt the brush of hands slide up against his side. Gliding over his ribs. Will pulls back, far too pleased with himself when Hannibal chases his lips.

“Sorry.” He repeats.

Hannibal cups the back of his head, fingers brushing through his hair. He’s brought forward for another kiss.

Apology accepted.

Quickly losing interest in fishing, they decide to head back. Will packs up their things and carefully puts his trout in the cooler. Another small gift from Hannibal.

As they walk Will thinks back to the time he first met Hannibal all those months ago. The bizarre turn of events since then.

“What do you think happened to the rest of the raiders?”

Hannibal glances at him. If he’s surprised by Will’s train of thought, he doesn’t show it.

“I only had the pleasure of meeting those 3. I do not know how many followed.”

“They were the scouts,” Will explains, “They get sent ahead to check on supplies, food sources, people. If they find something, they either bring it back to base camp or set up a new site.”

“Was that how you encountered them?”

Will reaches over to brush his fingers against Hannibal’s wrist. He feels Hannibal reach out and grasp onto his hand. A comforting weight.

“I had been staying at an abandoned repair shop. It was filthy and the gasoline spills made it too dangerous for anyone to be snooping around.”

And he had also tried not to leave any obvious traces of habiting the place, lest he attracted any unwanted attention.

“Very convenient to set fire to trespassers.” Hannibal commented.

“I usually would set a few traps for smaller critters running about the place, used an old fishing knot to set it up. I got caught out by four raiders, they dragged me back to their base camp a few miles off. Turns out knot tying skills was a skill in high demand and I was their star performer.”

He let Hannibal fill in the blanks. Beaten and bruised, he was made to teach others their knots. Voice hoarse and lips cracked, he would repeat the steps over and over while his audience laughed and sneered. Filthy with sweat and dirt, he was dragged along with raiders to set traps for their food. And if his service wasn’t good enough, the commander made sure Will starved. No food or water till he learnt to behave like a good little soldier.

_“Boy, you had better make it right this time.” The commander stood before him with a pick between his lips, the smell of urine and mud wafting from his clothes._

Hannibal brushed his thumb across Will’s hand, a soothing touch to bring him back.

“Do you remember who it was that first caught you?”

“Kinker. Had a fucked-up eye and an aversion to hygiene.” He knew Hannibal was unhappy with profanity but continued regardless. “He figured out the gasoline traps were manmade. I let my guard down and got lazy.”

Hannibal doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t attempt to apologise for his suffering and for that Will is grateful.

“It -” Will hesitated, “It was very messy. Dragged me kicking and hollering to base camp. From there things got worse. Stayed with the group while the moved through towns, raiding them for supplies.” And eyes. He would never forget the eyes of all the scared faces they had come across. Some of killed for sport, others were made to join; not by choice but fear of consequence. Fear was what allowed the commander to stay in control for so long. His camps were the perfect breeding grounds for hysteria and chaos.

“But you are far more resourceful to have settled for a life of submission.” Hannibal’s words convey sympathy but Will can’t help but notice a slither of smugness. As if Hannibal expects more from the story.

“Yeah, they- I managed to create a big enough distraction when we had been raiding a few towns over. Found a few flammable items and lit a match, they were kept busy with the fire.” Will remembers the desperation and wild panic to run. The fire had spread faster than anticipated, and he was certain he heard shouts. Shouts that weren’t Kinker and Crusty. Civilians had been caught up in that fire and Will wasn’t sure how many casualties he’d caused. All he wanted was to leave, to get away and be free from his captors. Will still wakes up drowning in the taste of gasoline and grease, and with a fire burning underneath his skin.

“You’ve been hiding ever since.”

Will comes away from his memories with a blink. Reorienting himself as his eyes flitter across his surroundings.

“I -” Will licks his dry lips, “I prefer the term self-imposed protection.”

“Dear Will, your associations affect you far too deeply to build effective barriers.”

“I build forts. They are more than adequate.” Until Hannibal knocked down Will’s walls with nothing more than his self-assured character and soothing voice. Who knew it’d be that easy. Perhaps it’s why he confesses his next words. “Sometimes my associations scare me.”

“You feel fear at what you have experience, and it is normal to be affected by what you have lived through. But it does not make you weak,” Hannibal graces him with a smile, “As a fine member of the Baltimore Police you’ve always had exposure to violence. You can handle both the violence you see and the associations you make. What you fear is your perfect understanding of what you see, and what that makes you in society’s eyes.”

Will shakes his head and looks up. Hannibal never made it a habit to pull punches. Of course, it would be easy for him to see straight through Will’s insecurities and get to the root of the issue without fucking around. Imagine if he’d been stuck with Hannibal instead of Chilton. “I thought most psychiatrists start with the easy stuff.”

“Would you like me to ask about your childhood? Perhaps start with your relationship with your parents?”

“God no.” Will laughs. “My time at the force was mostly detective work, even babies could have made the connections. And obviously that was of no use when I was up against the raiders.

Hannibal, it was fucked up. I don’t think this new world order is for me.”

Hannibal rounds on Will, stopping him in his tracks. The cooler is taken from hands, placed to the floor with care. The hand on Will’s wrist glide up to his shoulder. A warm palm placed at the juncture of his neck. Will looks at shadowed eyes. Framed by dark lashes and fine lines. They breaths are in sync, _in and out_.

“My dear Will,” Hannibal whispers, as if no one else deserves to hear what he is about to say,

“My remarkable, wonderful, and absolutely singular boy. You are far more than your fear. You are more than the fragile tea cup taken out for special guests. Will, you are the mongoose that I would have under my house, ready for the snake that attempts to breach my home.”

Will is breathless, pupils blown wide. His hands find their way to Hannibal’s chest. This man who grounds him effortlessly, whose looks at him with tender eyes, who thinks him capable of so much more. Without asking anything in return.

“Kiss me.” He whispers.

When he feels the press of warm lips, Will forgets it all.

* * *

“One of these days I will make a chef out of you yet.”

Will snorts and concentrates on cutting the ginger like Hannibal had asked him. It’s not surprising considering the amount of time he’s spending in Hannibal’s kitchen. But as much faith as Hannibal has in him, some things are just too much to ask for. He looks over to see Hannibal washing an assortment of vegetables. He picks up a lettuce and holds it under the tap, working each leaf between his fingers to wash away the soil.

“These dinners are spoiling me. If you saw what my diet was before this, I’m pretty sure you’d have a heart attack.” Will says.

Hannibal’s sighs, “Yes, I can only imagine. An unholy addiction to store bought caffeine and fast

food. Heaven knows how you were able to digest that awful sustenance.”

“Of course, you’d have an aversion to anything that isn’t freshly made. God forbid you saw me scarf down those supermarket microwave meals, and before you start, no I didn’t fucking warm it up.” Hannibal comes to deposit the freshly washed lettuce at his chopping board. Wet hands swipe at his cheek for Will to realise he’s smiling.

Hannibal swoops in with a kiss.

Will opens his mouth to make another remark about Hannibal’s eating habits – everything goes black. He blinks. Still nothing. It takes a minute to realise the lights have gone out. He feels Hannibal guide his hand with the knife to the counter.

“Most unusual.” Hannibal informs him. “Let me see what the issue is, please stay here Will.”

His touch disappears.

Bewildered, Will nods, “Ah you sure? I’m pretty good at electrical fixes.”

“Of that I’m sure, but there is no need. I am sure it is a minor issue. I’ll be only a moment.”

Will hears Hannibal step away, the click of his shoes across the kitchen floor. Calm and assured.

He stands there a minute, unsure of whether he should move. Will feels around the counter as he crouches to his knees and carefully sits on the floor.

Hannibal is probably heading up to the attic to the wires for the solar panels. Probably a glitch in the storage unit. Shouldn’t take too long. He starts to count to pass the time.

One minute.

Six minutes.

Eleven minutes.

_Sixteen minutes._

Will reaches up to grab the counter, getting ready to stand up.

And sees the dark counter top. He blinks. Looks like the electricity is back.

Will leaves the kitchen and walks towards the stairs, calling out to Hannibal. “Is everything okay?”

He starts up the steps.

A massive _thud_ comes from the kitchen.

Will frowns. What the fuck was that? Jogging back down the steps, he heads to the kitchen. He reaches for the back of his jeans only to realise he had left his gun behind at Hannibal’s request. He’d never needed it in months.

_Fuck._

Light from the kitchen pours into the hall. Will slows his steps and calls out to Hannibal one more time. Silence rings back. He crosses the threshold and looks around. The unwashed vegetables are by the sink, the pots on the stove ready to be used, the diced ginger, and – wait, the knife was missing.

Will rushes forward. Something slams into his stomach, knocking him off his feet. He groans at the weight holding him down and grapples with the hand aiming for his face. Something sharps cuts across his palm causing the flesh to sting. _Fuck._ Will kicks out and hears a gruff sound, catching his attacker off guard. The weight on top of him lessens and Will wrestles for the knife, uncaring of his injured hand.

Panic slows his movements, but desperation makes Will more alert than he’s ever been.

He snatches the knife and feels a blow against his ribs. Will shudders at the pain and aims his elbow at the attacker. Another groan echoes between them as they struggle. With one last kick, Will manages to distance himself from the stranger, sliding back for some more space. With a tight grip on the knife, he raises himself to his feet, watching the figure on the floor. He takes in lungful of air. With steady steps, he moves himself to block the doorway.

He doesn’t know where Hannibal is. And he needed to deal with this, or at least buy some time until Hannibal makes his way back.

“I gotta say, you’ve grown some claws.”

The pit of Will’s stomach drops so hard he can barely breath. The room seems four times smaller as he gets a better look at the figure curled up on the floor. The hunched back, the curly ginger hair, narrow nose, yellow-toothed sneer, and a glass eye.

_No, no, no, no, no._

Will stumbles back, dropping the knife with a clatter. _This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real._

“What’s the matter boy? Tha’ all you got?”

Kinker stares up at Will with his yellow-toothed sneer. Time had not been gentle for him. There are scars marring the right side of his face, wrinkles around his eyes, and a part of his ear lobe is missing. There’s a slump in his posture, as though it takes too much effort to hold himself up. Will looks at him and sees a wilting man, one with hard steel in his eye, but a man nonetheless. No more the monster patrolling his prison.

This wasn’t the commander’s jungle.

This was Hannibal’s home. _Sanctuary_.

Will takes a deep breath.

“What are you doing here?” He asks as he straightens himself up, picking up the knife.

“Now, that ain’t no way to be talkin’ to your house guest.” Kinker rubs his shoulder, “I ain’t here for you. All I want is the fuckin’ suit man.”

“Hannibal.” Will whispers helplessly.

“Aye, Hannibal.” Kinker spits the name, “I got a blood oath with ‘im.”

The shudder rolls through Will’s spine. He’d seen blood oaths before at the camp. It was a chance to settle grievances, no matter how small, and it usually ended up with one person brutally torn apart and hung up as a warning to others. He watched as Kinker mumbled frantic promises of revenge. The familiar coil of anticipation vibrating through his muscles at the thought of hurting someone. Ready to be swayed with haze of familiar ferocity and savagery.

For that to happen to Hannibal. The man who made Will home brewed coffee. Who helped grow his garden with a gentle hand. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t _fair_.

“You’ve got nothing with him. You leave him alone.” Will says, surprised by his own tone.

Kinker is also amazed, and annoyed, by the look on his face.

“Now you best not be meddling in things tha’ got nothin to do with ya.”

Kinker stands up, advancing on Will. He backs away in habit causing Kinker to laugh.

“Ya always were one of ‘em scaredy cats. God knows, the world ain’t got no place for the likes of ya.”

Will tightens his grip on the knife.

So, this is what it came down to. All those months of abuse at the hands of madmen. The cycle of degradation and humiliation. Kept like an animal for his knowledge and skill, only to be reminded of what he couldn’t do. Empathy had no place in survival. There lies the truth. Will could see it. It is the men who are cruel that can make something of themselves. You must fight for your own right to live. Because no one else will and no one else will care.

He feels caress of Hannibal in his mind, watchful and comforting. He breathes in Hannibal’s honeyed voice, _Piggy was…so full pride in his contribution to the good of society…that he helped fetch wood._ His mind conjures the beast from the forest. Standing in all its unapologetic glory. Demanding its payment from humanity. It demands the world’s Piggy, the sacrifice of naivety to ensure survival. So that the true nature of man may exist without restraint.

 _Not you_ , reminds Hannibal. _You are the mongoose under my house, ready for the snake that intrudes my home._

That’s right. Will wasn’t the fragile little teacup anymore. His fractured edges were hardened with gold. He studies Kinker watching him, notes how he stands taller than the other man. He’d never noticed that before.

He steadies himself, “Well, I disagree. And what are you going to do about that?”

“Aye,” Kinker face changes, blood humming for carnage, “Somethin’ about ya has changed. Hannibal been feedin’ ya pretty words, eh? Taking orders from a new lord? He seems a madman. Kept me en’ertained”

“I don’t take orders from anyone.”

“Heh,” Kinker snickers, “Not anymore ya mean.”

Will flushes and moves before he can think about it. Kinker rushes forward. The meet together, struggling against one another. Will surges forward, slashing the knife at Kinker. His wrist is caught in a tight grip. He feels something slam into his ribs. Will yells and tries to pull back. He can’t with the grip on his wrist. When it doesn’t work, he slams his head forward. The pressure around his wrist loosens but doesn’t disappear. Something inside Will reacts. He sinks his teeth into flesh of Kinkers arm, and hears a shout of pain.

Will bites down harder, thrilled by the response. Copper floods his mouth.

When the grip on his wrist disappears, Will drives the knife into the soft flesh Kinker’s stomach, straight into the intestines. He lets go of Kinker’s arm and swallows the blood.

“Boy, you got an animal in ya.”Voice hoarse from pain.

Will twists the knife deeper. Moisture slithers across his fingers, thick and warm. It runs down his arm and drips onto the floor.

“My name isn’t boy.” He pulls the knife upwards, cutting through flesh, cartilage, and muscle.

Will watches the corpse drop to the floor. Blood mars the body and stretches across the floor, chasing Will’s feet as he steps away. Lifeless. He’d done that. He can still taste the heavy musk of Kinker’s blood on his tongue. _Oh God._

His knees hit the floor.

 _Oh God. Oh God._ He’d done that.

Will drops his head to the forehead, curling into himself. He’d _finally_ done it.

Faced the monster head on and survived. Protected Hannibal and his home. He was the mongoose.

“Exquisite.”

Will followed the voice. Hannibal was standing in the doorway, as he was before the interruptions. He was watching Will with open reverence. Maroon eyes burning with raw veneration.

Will straightens up, “Hannibal, this is the one – the raider from back then, the – the one who - ”

He’s shushed as Hannibal approaches him, kneeling beside him. Fingers tangle into his curls. Soothing. He’s pulled towards Hannibal’s broad shoulders.

“Shhh. Dear Will, you have won your battle.”

“Are you okay? What happened to the electricity?”

“It seems it was a slight glitch. I simply had to reset the system.” Hannibal’s thumbs are rubbing circles at the base of Will’s scalp. “It seems you had a more eventful time than I.”

Will curls his bloody hands into fists, trying to pull away. “Sorry, I’m going to get you dirty.”

Hannibal doesn’t let him. “A little bit of pig’s blood is hardly of consequence to me. I only care that we will miss the meal I worked all evening for.”

Like chasing the memory of a dream after waking up. It comes slowly. The pieces fit together, a self-moving puzzle. But when it does Will lays cocooned in Hannibal’s arms. His breath stutters at the realisation.

“Which is better, law and rescue, or hunting and breaking things up?” Will whispers. “Consumed by the fear of the unknown or learn the truth.”

Hannibal hums in question.

“You’re the Chesapeake Ripper.” Will can see it now. The bodies, the mutilations. The beast in the forest. The demand for sacrifice from those who were lacking. Lacking civility and intellect.

“My clever boy.” Hannibal whispers in an almost perfect imitation of benediction.

“You laid a scene with the bodies. Your creations from unworthy materials.” He looked up at Hannibal.

“I knew you would see. You would understand and you would learn your potential.”

He thinks back to the time where Hannibal had told him, _what you fear is your perfect understanding of what you see_. What does he see. The truth? The beast behind the man? Hannibal’s true nature. But how much of a surprise was it really. Will had met Hannibal in the middle of the man’s attempt to create a beast with corpses. It wasn’t as though he could be morally outraged at this point. He’d known Hannibal, and he’d been okay with it.

What did that make Will?

“I just want - ” Will starts, “I want to not think about it right now.”

Will loses himself to sensations. Light touches skitter across his stomach, arms and face. He’s pulled to his feet. Hannibal voice anchoring him. He doesn’t know if it’s the Hannibal holding him or the one in his mind.

 _You have survived, in all your savage glory of bone and blood. You are here and now_. _With me._

He’s led upstairs with strong hands settled across his back. One step at a time. He reaches out to the steady shoulders, leans on Hannibal for support.

_Won the battle. You are the mongoose._

Warm air heats his lips as he’s pulled into a kiss. Fingers spread across the span of his jaw and neck. Holding him. Hannibal savours the remnants of Kinker’s blood on his lips. He kisses back. He’d done it. protected this man and his home. The one who’d made Will feel like he could be something more than his fear.

_A feast for your victory…_

Goosebumps break across his skin as the cool air hits his bare skin. He shudders as silken sheets slide across his back. Hands skim across his thighs, kisses are pressed along his collarbone. A heavy form settles on top of him. It’s good and it feels so safe.

_Loin…Served with…_

It comes to Will. Slowly. Piece by piece.

As he’s prepped with cold lube and insistent fingers. Stretching and prepping him for  – curving _oh! Just right there_.

_Slaughter..._

His cries for pleasure echo through the room.

_Lambs to slaughter…_

Will jerks in Hannibal’s hold. Hands flying to Hannibal’s throat. It doesn’t faze Hannibal who watches him with a stare that cuts through steel.

“You eat them.” Will says.

Hannibal grins in delight. Will’s fingers tighten their hold and he feels the hard press of muscles.  

“You mean, _we_ , Will. After all, you have been a guest at my table for months now. You enjoyed my meals.” Hannibal informs him.

Will narrows his eyes.  He gasps as Hannibal starts to move again in a steady rhythm. Hands slide across his leg, up to his hip, following the curve of his stomach.

“You’ve been eating people for years.” Will points out as he drops his hands from Hannibal’s neck, riding out the sensation of Hannibal.

“Is it really so different to eating animals. How is it any worse to the blood I tasted on your lips. I watched your battle, dear Will. You swallowed more than a mouthful from that pig.”

That was true enough. He’d been desperate to gorge on Kinker. Will recalled the taste of blood on his lips. Swallowing the taste of triumph against the cruel man – but a man nonetheless.

“Meals are sustenance, Will. Prepared for you with my careful attention and tender hands. Your current judgement is dictated by the moral code of a society full of contradictions.”

Will thinks of the meals shared with Hannibal. Their quiet moments in the garden. The homemade coffee. The little smile that he can pull from Hannibal by saying the right thing. The weight that is lifted off his shoulders every time he shares the places his mind takes him and Hannibal just accepts it. Accepts Will.

Hannibal was unashamed by what he was. Both predator, delighting in his hunts and kills, and man of languages and culture. He enjoyed it all. Revelled in who he was. Sitting on top a throne of blood and bones.

Maybe you must be something more than a man to survive.

And Will wants to live. Live _with_ Hannibal.

“Shut up and kiss me.” He says. And Hannibal does.

Later, after they finish is when he’ll think about the body downstairs. He’ll help Hannibal clean up the kitchen and put away their unfinished dinner. Maybe he’ll help Hannibal decide on what to do with corpse.

But whatever they decide on, Will knows it’ll be _their_ design.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was a wild ride! I really tried to fit those Lord of the Flies quotes in. 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://sidelleshadow.tumblr.com/)!


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